


Of Cookbooks, Mangas and Something more.

by patrochiles



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Bokuto as Akaashi's wing man, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Magazine AU, Now osaaka have their obligatory neighbours au, Repeated run ins, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrochiles/pseuds/patrochiles
Summary: At nearly two thirty a.m., the idea of murdering one's neighbour starts to get just a littletooappealing.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 29
Kudos: 71





	1. The Dorito Shaped Neighbour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [p_jimins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_jimins/gifts).



> This is my contribution to the osaaka agenda!! I just think they're a cute pair who will bond over their love for onigiri's.
> 
> @p_jimins hope you like this fic!!

At nearly two-thirty a.m., the idea of murdering one's neighbour starts to get just a little _too_ appealing.

Akaashi is running on caffeine and fumes, he has to be up for work in four hours, and he's well versed enough in criminal procedure to get away with it. It's not like anyone could possibly convict him; he's practically a _saint_ for putting up with this nonsense as long as he has. He _dares_ anyone else to suffer through Gordon Ramsay's Hell Kitchen reruns at full volume for half the night without cracking. He dares them.

Normally, Akaashi would never allow anyone to see his overworked three a.m. face except God and maybe Bokuto-san: he's bloodless and bleary-eyed, without even the saving grace of concealer to make him look slightly human. But the soon-to-be-dead person living in 6D simply has to be dealt with, so Akaashi puts on his glasses, wears his owl-shaped slippers ( gift from Bokuto-san) and goes to deal with them.

One angry elevator ride later, he's hammering on the door with a closed fist.

"Wow, okay," is the greeting he gets as the door opens, "Are you for real?"

"Are _you_ for real?" Akaashi snaps back, rather harsh if the wince on the guy's face is anything to go by. "Some of us have _jobs_ and need _peace and quiet_ and also, occasionally, _sleep_ – none of which is possible with your shitty show's scream fest _thumping through the walls_."

"Shitty?" the other guy repeats with a note of offence as if that's the most important thing, then, "I didn't – are you next door?"

Akaashi crosses his arms, foot tapping. "One floor up."

He glances up, hand rubbing the back of his neck, and does look a little sorry. Took him long enough. "Oh. I guess I didn't realize it was that loud."

"You _guess_?"

His eyebrows raise, but instead of arguing, he says, "I'm sorry. I'll keep it down."

"You better," Akaashi snits. He's a little disappointed that it isn't more of an argument, actually; it's anticlimactic. "I'd rather not have to perform public service in the middle of the night again."

He gives Akaashi an odd look, like he finds him more funny than bothersome, which is immensely irritating. "You're 7D, then?"

"That is how apartments work, yes."

"Uh-huh." He has a cigarette behind one ear that he pauses to put in the corner of his mouth and light. He gives Akaashi a look, and informs him, "Your mangas are always fucking up the mail," and then shuts the door right in his face before he can respond.

"But is he _cute_ ?" is, of course, Bokuto-san's first question.

"If you like guys who are shaped like Dorito's, then yes," Akaashi answers, adding venomously, "Not that it matters; he isn't long for this world."


	2. Maya Osamu??

Akaashi is getting home late from work (or, getting home from work; late should always be implied) when he finds 6D lounging at his door. He's leaning back with a foot up against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest to prop the other, which holds a folded-over paperback aloft so he can read. He has that stupid cigarette behind his ear again.

"Are you lost?" Akaashi asks, unceremoniously thrusting his bagful of papers at 6D so he can rummage in his coat pocket for his key.

6D ignores the jibe. "I wanted to apologize for being an ass the other day," he says, holding out a cup towards him like a peace offering. He hadn't noticed it before.

Akaashi sniffs the air. "Herbal tea?" he asks distastefully.

6D gives him a half-smile. "You seem like you need to chill out a little."

"You clearly don't value your life at all, do you, 6D?" Akaashi finally gets the door open and snatches his belongings back. "You can make it up to me by removing yourself from my presence."

The other gives him a mocking salute. "You got it, glasses-kun in 7D. And it's Miya Osamu, by the way."

"Whatever, Maya," Akaashi says pointedly, hand on the door ready to slam it. He wavers, but then takes a half step forward and plucks the cigarette away. God, he hasn't had one in _months_. "This is a disgusting habit, by the way. One of many you seem to have."

"We really got off on the wrong foot," Osamu says. "I don't mean to –"

And Akaashi gets the satisfaction of closing the door on _him_ this time.


	3. Series of accidental run-ins

What follows is a series of unintentional run-ins.

Akaashi is heading out for work when Osamu's coming back in one morning with his coffee, onigiri and paper, offering him a tired smile that Akaashi answers with an appalled frown. One night as he's prepping for the next day he hears the lots of incoherent screeching, whining and yelling and peers out his window and sees that the guy is trying to wrestle a blonde man into a taxi. Another time he's going on a Bokuto-san enforced blind date and spots him across the street with his arm around some Brunette.

Not that he's looking or anything.

Saturday finds Osamu perched on the railing of the staircase with a pencil between his teeth as he scrawls with another pen all over some magazine article. Akaashi is returning from Kita-san's shop with a picnic basket full of goodies; the first few years of living in this neighbourhood, he'd rebelled against such cutesy nonsense which Oikawa insisted he buy, but in all honesty, he really can't deny the quality of the produce.

"What are you doing?"

Osamu looks up and Akaashi gets a better look at him: chiselled jaw, hair too long, was that an apron over his shirt, ripped arms, and, well, kind of hot. Disconcerted, Akaashi glares at him a little harder.

"Pointing out inaccuracies," Osamu says, turning the article towards him briefly. "And checking out the competition, _kind of_."

"Competition?"

"I write for the other guy." Osamu closes the magazine and he glances at the title – some cooking magazine he wouldn't bother with if you paid him. Then Osamu tucks it under his arm like he's settling in for a conversation. Akaashi did not sign up for that.

Akaashi frowns. "Oh, so that explains the hours you keep."

He nods slightly. "All the best writing happens between midnight and four in the morning and I get to simultaneously try out my recipes."

"That remains to be seen." Akaashi shifts the basket from hand to hand. "Do you write things besides recipes no one reads?"

"I write reviews which no one reads," he says, and smiles, looking at him a little closer. "You know, you keep pretty odd hours too. Since you were awake to yell at me and all."

"Yes, well. I have a real job," he says.

"And I'd love to hear all about it, but –" Osamu's gaze shifts past him and he stands. "Date's here."

It's that Brunette who bears a strong resemblance to _Tibetan_ fox from the other day. One of those guys who wears athleisure but manages to look casually sexy anyway. Akaashi is doing his own version of casual for the weekend: glasses perched on his nose, designer jeans, cashmere sweater and boots. But for some reason now he feels overdressed.

Akaashi's nose wrinkles. "Who goes on dates in the middle of a Saturday?"

"People without real jobs, apparently," he says on his way down the steps – but then he turns to look back at Akaashi. "What did you say your name was?"

Akaashi feels a sudden stupid rush of displaced embarrassment that this entire time Osamu hasn't known his name. "Akaashi," he says. "Keiji." he straightens a little bit. "Weekly Shounen Jump - Manga division."

Osamu smiles, a real one this time. "Your mangas here." He points behind Akaashi into the small lobby. "Are clogging up the mailboxes again."

Akaashi looks, and by the time he's turned back, Osamu's halfway down the street.


	4. A little party never killed nobody

On Wednesday he bums a cigarette off Osamu. Whatever.

Bokuto says, "You should invite him this weekend!"

Akaashi doesn't even look up from his book, except to glare at Bokuto who's lying on the couch, "Why would I invite my _very_ annoying neighbour," he says, very flatly, so Bokuto is aware that it is not a question but an accusation of ridiculousness.

"You said he wrote for some cooking magazine, right?" Bokuto says thoughtfully, ignoring Akaashi. "And what's his name? Maya Something?"

"Miya Osamu," Akaashi supplies. Not that he'd looked. It was just there next to his apartment buzzer.

" _Miya_ Osamu," Bokuto repeats with a ta-dah implicit in his tone, as though his name means anything. "You know how my publishing house manages a lot of authors right? He eviscerated Kageyama's latest cookbook. He _cried_ and Hinata had to cheer him up with Milk boxes."

Akaashi perks up a little. "Really?"

Bokuto goes on to pull up the review and read it aloud, with all the expected Bokuto personality and weird hand gestures. Akaashi is glad to have a distraction from Bokuto's endless matchmaking and also possibly just a teensy tiny bit impressed.

Turns out it didn't really distract from Bokuto's matchmaking.

It's an industry party, the kind Akaashi doesn't really care for but continuously gets talked into. He prefers, sit down dinners, – not a party where there are a bunch of editors, photographers and Heads of different magazines in fancy suits, flirting with models, chugging impressive amounts of alcohol and snorting coke off every available bathroom surface. But Bokuto-san had insisted that all of Akaashi's pent up frustration needs to be counteracted with some aggressive fun, so Akaashi put on his best suit and came to the party.

He's at the end of his fourth drink, aggressively setting down the glass on the bar counter when there's a light touch to his elbow. "So _you_ do exist outside of the building," Osamu says. "I was starting to wonder if you were a really mean ghost."

Akaashi turns to blink at him then narrows his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Your friend's publishing house invited me," he says. "Which is interesting, considering I have not reviewed his clients like _Kageyama_ kindly in the past."

_God, Bokuto-san_ , Akaashi thinks. _Can't you ever be subtle?_

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere," Akaashi says, waving him away. "Look for the energetic owl-shaped hair man with really good biceps surrounded by admirers."

Osamu pauses, awkwardly, like he wants to say something. He looks almost respectable, Akaashi notices, in an off white shirt and blue blazer. "Uh, okay," he says. "I'll see you around, then, I guess?"

"I guess," Akaashi says tersely.


	5. Hangover

Bokuto ends up depositing Akaashi into a cab somewhere in the vicinity of dawn, after one free drink too many made it hard to stay vertical. He hadn't seen Osamu the rest of the night.

He spends the early hours alternately cuddling into his fluffiest robe and puking, and he's nauseous enough that even the smell of the alcohol reeking from his rumpled suit on the laundry basket sends him right back to the bathroom. 

He opens the window to try and get rid of the nasty alcohol smell, when there's the insidious smell of cigarette smoke and then the sound of laughter following. It takes a minute for his foggy brain to make the connection, but he realizes that Osamu is on the fire escape just below his, entertaining someone, and in that moment Akaashi is so annoyed and sick and strangely mortified that he fills up a glass pitcher with water then upends it right outside the window. He is happily rewarded with a shriek and some muffled cursing.

He pokes his head out the window but doesn't see the fox face nearby, just Osamu glaring up at him. "Smoking is a disgusting habit," he informs Osamu.

" _You_ smoke!" Osamu says disbelievingly, wiping water out of his eyes. He's drenched. He must've gotten the worst of it.

Akaashi smirks. Good.

"I am trying to quit," he says loftily and snaps his window shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very short update, I'll post something longer next time!!


	6. Neighbour from hell

He regrets it as soon as he's both fully sober and no longer feeling ill, but at that point, there's nothing to do except cringe quietly to himself and hope he never runs into Osamu ever again in his life.

And then he drops his pen under the fridge.

He stands there in the kitchen in his pants glaring at that little gap of space between fridge and floor. If he's not out of here in twenty minutes, he's going to be late for work. He _has_ other pens he could just as easily use for writing. But Akaashi has a problem deviating from predetermined plans and he really does like to write using that pen a lot _(lucky charm)_. Plus it's a very tiny fridge, intended to fit inside his coffin-sized Tokyo kitchen, and he's had to resort to shifting it before, in similar situations. He can do this.

As it turns out, he cannot. He can physically move the appliance, but as soon as he does, he cracks some wiring in his charming old-fashioned apartment and there is a sudden outpouring of water _everywhere_.

Akaashi stands there, shocked, and then tries to stem the flow somehow, which proves impossible, and – god, it's going to ruin his wooden floors, he is definitely late, and he's going to drown here in the titanic outpouring from the stupid too-small refrigerator. So he piles towels on the ground and does something else he'll later regret: he goes out the window, down the fire escape, and bangs on Osamu's window like a psycho stalker. While dripping everywhere.

When Osamu appears at the window, he looks tired and unimpressed. "You are the neighbour from hell," he tells him.

"I know, I know," Akaashi says impatiently, shivering a little. "It's just –"

" _From hell_ ," he repeats. "A fucking demon" as he continues ranting, "When everyone in Tokyo decided as one not to get to know their neighbours, it was because of people like you."

"I know," Akaashi snaps, which probably he shouldn't do in this scenario, and then gives up the whole story, adding, "It's just a desperate situation, I don't know who to – can't you just come up for a minute?"

Osamu stares at him and sighs and finally says, "This is karma at work, you know."

"Yes, yes, I'm very terrible and I'm getting what I deserve, I know," Akaashi says. "Please?"

That seems to win him over, thankfully, and in a few minutes, he's slipping across Akaashi soaked floor to assess the damage. He fiddles around underneath the sink for ten minutes and whatever he does ceases the tide, thankfully.

"You need to call a real plumber," he says as he gets to his feet again. "But at least it's not gushing anymore."

"Thank you," Akaashi says. "How did you know how to do that?"

"I lived in a lot of shitty apartments before this one." He crosses his arms. "Why did you ask me to help?"

"I don't know anyone else in the building," Akaashi says with a shrug. "Um. I did say thank you, yes?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes. I just meant you know… You clearly don't like me very much."

"I neither like nor dislike you." Akaashi shifts his weight a little. "Why do you say that?"

Still staring at him, Osamu releases a little huff of a laugh. "Uh, well, let's see. You glare at me all the time. You're not very polite. I went to your party to flirt with you, and somehow that ended with you pouring a bucket of water on my head."

He finds himself fidgeting again, drip drip dripping onto the floor. "It wasn't my party," he mumbles. "And it was a pitcher."

"What a distinction."

"I'm sorry?" he tries.

Osamu doesn't seem to buy that, not that he blames him, and instead starts to excuse himself. At the door, Osamu half-turns to say, "You're not terrible. I mean, maybe not everyone's type, exactly, but…you're just a little –"

"Insane, Intimidating or perhaps _charming_ ?" Akaashi supplies.

Osamu looks at him. "Intense," he says. "That's not always a bad thing."

"Too bad I only use my powers for evil." At this point no amount of denial and avoidance in the world could erase the embarrassment of this entire situation, so he'd really just like for him to leave.

"Too bad," Osamu agrees, and gives him a little nod before going.

Akaashi sighs and looks at the clock. There is no salvaging this day.

**Author's Note:**

> I've written the next few chapters, it just needs to be edited. Let me know your thoughts in the comment section below or hmu @patrochile on twitter!!


End file.
